


Candle

by mozalieri



Series: on comprend d'où l'on vient [2]
Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Candles, Established Relationship, Human Disaster Antonio Salieri, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 00:30:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16754410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozalieri/pseuds/mozalieri
Summary: Does Mozart even have any idea of his internal dialogue?





	Candle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kecchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kecchan/gifts).



> part two of a short & simple series of misunderstandings. 
> 
> all fics in the series can be read as stand-alone.

Mozart likes to leave the candles on at night when the two of them get into bed.

At first, Salieri wonders if he is afraid of the dark. It would not surprise him, truthfully. In the jumbled mess of Mozart’s mind, addled with childhood trauma and the constant need to impress, to prove himself, there are… well, more uncommon fears.

Things like clowns and wolves, the sound of trumpets and the dismissiveness of fathers.

(Ah, perhaps that last one is not so uncommon. Salieri wishes it was.)

Still, darkness is a common fear. Either fear of the dark itself or fear of what is in it— many people are afraid of those things.

Salieri was once, too. When he was a child, that is. He feared the things he believed he saw in the dark, would beg his parents to leave the candle on, at least until he fell asleep.

He does not make Mozart beg. Not here, not for this. But he doesn’t ask either. He is unsure how to bring it up, and each time he _finally_ thinks of a way, the moment has passed or Mozart is already asleep.

Perhaps he is overthinking it. Really, it could be that it is not that deep, never was. Maybe he should just ask; honestly, Mozart would _want_ him to, but the thought of Mozart being embarrassed by his fears or the thought of the simple confrontation makes Salieri mull it over again and again.

Mozart is easy to talk to for the most part— even when they bump heads, they can always figure it out in the end. Mozart tries his best, gives Salieri his all, and Salieri attempts to do the same, too.

There is really no reason for Salieri to be so nervous, to think it over so much, but he does anyway. Regardless of his worries and his own damn insecurities, he promises himself that he will bring it up— that it is not that big of a deal. He and Mozart will likely laugh it off together, tangled in their sheets, giggling together at the pointlessness of Salieri fretting over something like a lit _candle_.

Tonight. Salieri promised himself that would ask, but again—

Oh, he thinks too hard about his phrasing, and Mozart falls asleep on his arm.

Salieri groans at himself, quiet, barely audible. He lays in bed for a bit longer than usual. The words are on his tongue, finally, but Mozart is asleep and the candle is burning. Too late, and just a bit defeated, he works his arm out from under Mozart and goes over to the desk.

Salieri does not want to start any fires, so he never lets the candle burn all the way down, always stays up a bit later.

He does not mind it; truly, there is a certain softness in Mozart’s face when he finally dozes off. The softness is usually there anyway, yes, but when Mozart is dozing off, he looks more than a little angelic.

And though Salieri has always had trouble sleeping, his tired mind allows him to relax significantly more so now that Mozart joins him beneath the sheets. Mozart is a gentle man, a warm weight at Salieri’s side. He is rambunctious too, yes, a little troublemaker, but he is kind-hearted as well, good-natured and _warm_ despite it all. Watching all of these things melt together into one sleepy person, relaxed and murmuring things that don’t quite make sense—

Watching Mozart fall asleep makes Salieri sleepy, too, even when he is fretting over simple questions.

Salieri realizes that he has just been standing at the desk, staring into the candle’s flame and thinking about the man in his bed. He blushes a bit and thinks once more: truly, this is just the kind of person he is now, isn’t it?

Still frayed edges, a black drop of paint in clear water, but…

Salieri looks over at Mozart, asleep and small in his bed, and he thinks he must be doing something right. Mozart is not perfect, but he is a good person, rights what he wrongs, and he believes in Salieri.

Salieri must be doing something right, even— even if it is not asking about this damn candle.

He sighs, blows it out, and then hurries back to bed.

As Salieri climbs in, Mozart must feel the dip of the mattress. He shifts, and Salieri stills.

He hovers, unmoving, eyes darting back to where he knows the candle is. Should be relight it? If Mozart is awake, then he might want it to be relit—

He should ask. Not asking questions is what got him into this mess to begin with.

(Is it a mess? Does Mozart even have any idea of his internal dialogue, his worry about the candle, and if he should bring it up?)

“Wolfgang.” Salieri says, quiet, just to see if Mozart is awake. “…Do you want me to relight the candle?”

“Antonio.” Mozart replies with a little yawn. He shifts again, “No, no. Get back in bed.”

Salieri looks at Mozart, then worriedly back over to the candle. Slowly, he slips back beneath the sheets, teeth worrying his bottom lip. He trusts Mozart, yes, but— “It is no problem to relight.” Salieri says, arm draping over Mozart’s middle as Mozart scoots in, laying like spoons in a drawer.

“It’s okay.” Mozart mumbles. He still sounds half asleep. He is quiet for a moment, then adds, “Unless you want to. ‘Tonio, are you afraid of the dark?”

Salieri bristles a bit, cheeks pink; oh, he is glad Mozart cannot see them, “No.” He says, fast, “I thought you were— are you not afraid of the dark?”

Mozart shakes his head, and Salieri hums.

“Why the candle, then?” Salieri asks, “Why do you always leave them on before we get into bed?”

“I like to see your face.” Mozart says, casual, like it is the most _easy_ thing in the world, and Salieri sputters, thoroughly taken aback and, _oh_ , flustered.

“Ah— my face…” Salieri repeats, then covers his eyes with an arm. “You like to look at my _face_. Wolfgang, you see my face every single day.”

“I do.” Mozart agrees. “But it’s a nice face. I want it to be the last thing I see before I go to sleep.” He giggles, then rolls over slowly, “You thought I was afraid of the dark? I used to be, when I was a child, but it was more so a fear of things that might linger in it.”

Salieri knows that he should be paying more attention, listening as Mozart explains that he _once_ was afraid of the dark, but he simply cannot get over the fact that—

Of course— of _course_. This is so Mozart, so very _Mozart_ to burn all their candles down to just the wick, simply to look at Salieri’s face, which he sees every day _regardless_. Good _lord_.

Salieri wants to point out the faults in Mozart’s logic, how _silly_ this all is, but, oh, he cannot even complain. Now that he thinks about it, he has been using the candle for a similar reason. Ah, it is—

Silly. It is so silly. Salieri lets out a laugh, rolling onto his back and allowing Mozart to drop his head onto his chest.

“What’s so funny?” Mozart asks, but Salieri can _hear_ the smile in his voice, the giggles waiting to push past his lips the second that Salieri explains the joke to him. Mozart has so much faith in him, doesn’t he? Good then, Salieri knows he will laugh.

And they will be laugh it off together, tangled in their sheets, giggling at the pointlessness of Salieri fretting over something like a lit _candle_. Salieri knew they would.

“I am just…” Salieri starts, still through little laughs, “ _Very_ , madly in love with you, Wolfgang.” He finishes the rest dramatically, figures that Mozart will get a laugh out of it. He does, and Salieri can feel when Mozart perks up, starts laughing, too.

“You have been worrying about his all week, haven’t you?” Oh, Mozart’s _smile_ is loud, bright. They may not need any more candles if he keeps lighting up the room like this. He scoots in and peppers Salieri’s face with kisses. “ _Antonio_.”

“I know, I know.” Salieri says. “In my defense, I kept missing my chances.” He looks over at Mozart.

“Well, if you miss them, then make them.” Mozart argues, and that—oh, that is so like him, too. Salieri can’t help but laugh more, at the absurdity of this, at the simplicity Mozart sees in it all.

It is simple, clean— it ought to be easy, really. If he misses his chances, he should make new ones. Truthfully, he isn’t quite sure how to, but—

“Perhaps you should teach me.” Salieri says, a smile still on his lips. This one is both because he is relieved, glad that this worry is gone, and, well… because he is in love with Mozart. _Stupidly_ in love with Mozart, wicks of candles and all.

“I will.” Mozart agrees. He leans in, pecks Salieri on the chin, and then pauses. He hums, feeling the spot where he kissed. “I missed your lips.”

“I will relight the candle.” Salieri says, and Mozart snorts.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://loperap.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> special thanks to [my boyfriend](https://saluwueri.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this for me <3


End file.
